


Pressure

by stealyourshiny



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:32:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealyourshiny/pseuds/stealyourshiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by sketch "Pressure" by Teapirate on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> Picture that inspired the story has unfortunately disappeared so I have no link to it anymore that I can find. :(

Everything had gone so quickly. From the attack in Highever, to the battle of Ostagar, the flight to Lothering from Flemeth’s hut, meeting the Qunari, helping refugees, darkspawn nightmares… The list went on and on, and Aedan, more often than not, collapsed into his bedroll each night, too exhausted to think or reflect on what was going on.

It was a small village, somewhere between Redcliffe and Kinloch Hold that they actually found beds available, and relative peace for a moment. Aedan had smiled and laughed with his companions in the tap room, snickering softly into his ale at Morrigan’s insults and Alistair’s whining retorts about how mean she was. Leliana was somewhere in between trying to pull them apart, while Sten was pretending he knew none of them at all.

It was something the elf said that tipped him over. Nothing specific, just the turn of phrase, the sound of his accent as he egged on the witch and the templar. It reminded him of Oriana. It immediately brought to mind the last time he’d seen her; eyes unseeing and broken body twisted onto the floor of her room. Oren’s smaller body behind her, as if she had been trying to protect him. His smile faded as more images came to mind - his father bleeding out across the kitchen pantry, his mother with her bow and sword standing over him. 

“Are you alright, my friend?”

Aedan looked up at the lilting voice and saw the elf - Zevran - gazing at him keenly.

“Fine,” he mumbled, pushing away from the bar. “We should get some sleep.”

He put some coin on the bar for the innkeeper and turned to the stairs, his mabari following tentatively behind.

When the door was closed, his armour removed and there was nothing but himself, the dog, the bed, and a candle; he broke down. The tears streaming down his face. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands, eyes closed tightly. Aedan tried to force the thoughts and memories away. He had a job to do, a Blight to deal with. He didn’t have time for tears and regrets.


End file.
